


Retaliation

by Nilozot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Demon Dean Winchester, F/M, Fisting, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Genital Piercing, Kink Meme, Mark of Cain, POV Alternating, Pain, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3377621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nilozot/pseuds/Nilozot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire attempts to avenge Randy's murder. And immediately regrets it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retaliation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPNkink-meme January 2015

The girl crept toward Dean's room, a gleaming knife in her hand. Claire had held her rage all the way in the long car ride back to the bunker, through watching him eat his revolting dinner, through oldster rock songs and awkward silences and even the occasional banter as if nothing had fucking happened. She feigned sleep in the backseat with the creature that was not her father, and plotted her revenge.

Monsters, there were monsters everywhere, she decided. Angels and demons and everything in between -- fuck ‘em all, let them burn. And especially Dean, who was no longer a human being in Claire’s estimation, but had clearly become one of the things that he took such pride in hunting. Just as the younger, purer Dean and Sam had dispatched her demon-possessed neighbors with admirable efficiency, she would rid the Earth of the evil stain that had murdered her last family in the world, and send him straight to Hell where he belonged. Hell was apparently real; she had gleaned that much from her brief taste of the dazzling cosmos when Castiel entered her all those years ago. Heaven and Hell and Purgatory and Earth and thousands of dimensions beyond that humans had no words for: _Fuck. Them. All._

So now she was trapped in an underground fortress with a monster. On the plus side, there were a lot of weapons, and the bunker’s walls were made of convenient sound-muffling concrete, so she could do the deed without Sam and Castiel waking up and preventing her from taking off afterwards. Claire had picked a nice mini-scimitar off the back wall in the library. The weight seemed just right, easy to swing with a decent amount of leverage, or just hook the sharp blade on his neck and pull. She practiced lopping the air a few times, getting comfortable with the weapon and feeling a bit like a badass. This hunting business did have its appeals.

Outside Dean’s room, she cracked the door an inch and paused to assess the situation. The side table lamp was still on, but Dean appeared to be asleep, snoozing completely clothed on top of the covers of his bed, arms crossed and head lolling to the side. He looked like a real human this way, and she had to shove down the wave of guilt for what she was about to do. _Monster,_ she reminded herself. _He murdered Randy and enjoyed it._

Claire silently opened the door a few more inches and slipped her lithe frame into the room. The way he was sleeping, with the neck bared and inviting, she couldn’t resist slicing there even though it meant she’d have to come in close. She raised the knife, intending to bring it plunging down as hard as she could, chop his head off if she could get the strength …

Dean opened his eyes. They were as black as an infinite abyss, windows to a dimension no human soul should have to endure. In the heartbeat she looked at them, she understood the nature of the beast that lay before her. There would be no pity, no remorse, only a bottomless appetite for flesh and pain.

Claire lunged for his throat, but she wasn't fast enough. With the lethal agility of a predator, Dean darted forward off the bed and grabbed both the arm that was holding the knife and her neck, whipping her around and slammed her back against the bed. He gripped her wrist and with a sickening crunch smashed it down on the corner of his side table. The scimitar fell from her hand to the floor.

The whole move took less than a second. Claire hardly had time to think how she had ended up here, flat on her back, wrist broken, Dean's weight on top of her stomach pinning her down with his hand around her neck. He wasn't even choking her, just holding her wriggling form in place while he gave her a cold, appraising stare. The eyes were back to green now, but they were still inhuman, and she was not comforted.

"You know, I wasn't gonna fuck with you, Claire," Dean said in a low growl. "I owe Cas, and even demons have some sense of loyalty. But now you try to murder me in my sleep? After I saved you, you ungrateful little bitch?"

Claire's brain finally started to unfreeze, and she decided shrieking for help was a viable option. She thrashed and bucked, trying to squirm free of his tremendous weight holding her down. "Sam! CASTIEL! I pray .." Dean squeezed her throat, hardly even making an effort, and cut off her air supply.

"That's not going to work in here, darlin'. The bunker's warded and fortified up the devil’s ass from the angels, along with everything else. But if you insist on being difficult ..." He leaned over the side of the bed while still pinning her down, as she clawed and scratched at the hand on her neck, despite the explosion of pain emanating from the limp wrist. Within arms’ reach he managed to find what had to be weeks-old used underwear and an old flannel shirt wadded up next to the bed. He stuffed the underwear down her throat, ignoring her attempts to bite him, then finally released his grip over her throat.

Claire gagged and choked on the acrid cloth, tasting of musty sweat and old semen, as she tried to inhale enough breath through her nose. While she was distracted, Dean efficiently tied the bad hand together with the good one, and stretched her arms above her head to knotted the bundle down to the metal frame just below the mattress. "You know what’s funny, though, human-souled Dean probably would have admired you for trying to stab me. Like a little proto-hunter, how cute. I’m just pissed, though." He pulled her arms up, tight, earning a muffled cry of anguish as the bones in the wrist strained out and popped. Only then, once he had her fairly secured, did he get up and close the door to the room.

Dean pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and picked up the knife off the floor. The mere presence of the weapon in his hands, even more than the minor struggle to hold the girl down, activated the bloodlust of the Mark. He could see himself meticulously flaying her, releasing a trickle then a river of blood as she slowly, agonizingly died. But then he’d have a dead body on his hands. And a disgusting mess in his room. And Sam and Cas’s godforsaken righteousness to deal with. Surely there were _cleaner_ ways of dealing with the situation, ones that still ended in a satisfactory manner.

"So this is what’s going to happen, Claire," said Dean, still measured and in control, flipping the knife over and over in his hands. "Obviously you don’t give a damn that I saved you from being raped by some two-bit sleazebag, so I’m going to take that back now. And when I’m done taking what I want from your pretty little body, assuming you can still walk, you are going to take your few shitty possessions and run. No notes, no prayers to Cas, just gone. And if I ever see your face again, I’m not gonna stick my dick up inside you to your bowels, but this knife instead. Do we understand each other?"

She responded by scooting her ass up the bed enough to kick him directly in the face.

Dean caught her boot on the second swing and slammed it back down on the bed, and then began to laugh. A bit of blood trickled from his lip and he licked it, letting the metallic taste rev up the Mark-lust even more. "You want the rough way, huh? Fine with me, baby."

He looked around for some more means to tie her down, chiding himself on the appalling lack of rope in the room, and settled on a couple of belts from a drawer. He tossed her boots off -- dodging her increasingly desperate kicks -- and looped each belt around one of her ankles . The free ends he tied down on either side of the double bed, again to the mesh frame underneath the mattress, midway up the bed so her ass was forcible tilted up in the air. In the end she was stretched out spread-eagle, hardly able to move her limbs more than an inch. One thing he had to give the Men of Letters: those guys in the thirties sure built sturdy furniture.

The girl was still wearing far too many clothes, though. He could have stripped her jeans before tying the feet, but they were those damned skinny jeans that even grown women had to awkwardly shimmy their asses to peel off. Usually Dean enjoyed the performance, but today they just an annoyance. Dean opted for the more direct route of cutting her clothes off with the knife. He started up above, at her shirt, which he was able lift underneath and slice open the front with one fluid jerk. Then he followed through with the center of the bra. Her tiny rounded breasts fell out of the tattered clothes, and he stopped a second to consider what to do with them.

"You really are a skinny skank, you know that?" he said, running his grimy fingers along her ribcage. They still had remnants of dried blood from his encounter with Randy and goons the evening before. Claire’s breathing had sped up now, almost to the point of hyperventilation, the little nubs bobbing with the effort. Her expression of defiance and hate was slowly metamorphosing into terror, as the reality of the situation sunk in. He knelt over to murmur in her ear, while keeping up the invasive stroking on her chest. "Yup, that’s right. You’re getting it now. I really am gonna rape you. I really am gonna fuck you til you bleed, and keep on hurting you until your throat is raw from the screaming, until you pass out from the pain. Then you’re going to wake up and we’ll do it again." As if to emphasize the point, he twisted a nipple, the very tip, and stretched it out practically to the tissue’s breaking point. Claire moaned and tried to jerk away, but that only resulted in him pinching harder. She learned quickly, he noted with satisfaction, holding still and trying to control her breathing in shallow gasps to avoid painful movement.

"See, right here’s a good example. I could do anything to you, and you can’t do a damn thing about it. I could cut this off right now. I could bite you numb. I could crush your pretty little titties so that every day for the rest of your life you’re reminded of what I did to you. Or I could even suck them, arouse the little slut in you even as you squirm your cunt and scream ‘no’." He let go and the nipple sprung back into place. "Honestly I can’t decide yet, so why don’t we get the pants off first and evaluate your whore level. Then we’ll see."

He wasn’t talking just to hear himself, or to terrorize her -- although there was that. In truth Dean had never raped anyone in the flesh, so it would be a learning experience all around. Sure, he’d sexually tortured thousands back during his stint in Hell, but that hardly counted without a meatsuit to properly enjoy it. Existence in Hell had a certain ephemeral, unreal quality that made the memory fade, although it felt real enough while shit was happening. As bodiless disconnected souls, the denizens of Hell could experience ten thousand uniquely horrific shades of pain, but _pleasure_ was no longer possible. Even once a soul turned, and they were promoted to rapist instead of the raped, really all anyone got out of it was a grim sort of satisfaction at another soul’s agony. Hell was about as fun as it sounds, absent all the hedonistic pleasures of Earth up to and including orgasm. No wonder Crowley preferred to hang out in dives with him rather than reign as the King of the Underworld.

All of this Dean contemplated as he ripped Claire’s jeans to shreds. Causing pain in and of itself wasn’t new, but it still was exciting. With the Mark violence was its own gratifying drive, releasing a built-up tension and producing a massive adrenaline rush unlike any Dean had experienced in all his years as a hunter. Combining the rush with sexual pleasure of the body would be a tasty mix indeed.

He managed to remove the last shards of fabric with the scimitar, and tossed them aside. The knife was large and awkward for the task, so he’d ended up cutting her five or six times on the legs getting it all off. The thin wounds dribbled blood, and he bent over to lick each one of them before settling in the examine her cunt. She was pulling on the restraints, attempting to close her legs in some sort of laughable attempt at modesty. In her current position the labia were pulled open, exposing a nicely swollen clit and oozing vaginal slit. He poked around to take a look at her ass as well, and it was clean and pink and shriveled away from him as he grazed it with his dirty fingernails. He laughed again, harshly, and pulled himself up so he could watch her face as he first assaulted her.

Without warning he shoved four fingers up into her vag, jerking upwards at the same time to rip the opening. At least he’d _hoped_ the entrance might tear, but she actually stretched to accommodate. Clearly not much of a virgin. She screamed through the gag at the penetration of course, shaking and jerking her body away. Her muscles clenching and twitching around his fingers was glorious to feel, and he withdrew and plunged them in a second time just to make her contract again.

"Well, the verdict is in. Whore it is. How many men have you let fuck you before now? Randy got a piece, I’m sure. He’s probably in Hell as we speak, and trust me, he doesn’t give a damn that you are getting violated after a pathetic attempt to avenge his honor." He continued to roughly penetrate her over and over, getting the fingers in a little deeper each time, and was a little surprised at the copious amount of lubrication she was producing. "To give credit where credit is due, your wet cunt is impressive. I’m about ready to introduce my dick to it, but first I think we need to go full fist. Whaddya think?"

Claire greeted the news by sobbing and struggling even harder. Her eyes were tightly clenched and her face scrunched up into a delicious expression of torment. The position of her legs, stretched so open and vulnerable with moisture and a musky scent rolling out of her, was simply a delicious invitation to insert _something_ in, discover the outer limits of that young pretty cunt. This time as he entered her Dean didn’t shove in, but instead squeezed all five fingers together and began to corkscrew his hand back and forth. He watched with fascination as her entrance stretched and stretched again, finally beyond its limits he gave it more pressure. A small tear formed, drizzling bright red blood, and he popped the entire hand in. He craned to lick the wound as the blood dribbled on his wrist, resolving to taste every scratch that he made on her, and privately marveling a bit that the whole damn hand could get into such a thin body without ripping her in two. Women could fit an entire head through that thing; it was oddly bewitching.

At the entrance of his hand, through some instinct of self-preservation Claire suddenly stopped moving. She was exhaling in forceful bursts through her nose, trying to regain control over her muscles, her fear. This was far worse than merely being fucked. As Dean had cruelly noted, she’d had joyless, numbed, even painful sex before, fucked plenty of people for favors or even just to avoid her loathsome life for a short period of time. But never had she felt like exposed prey, like she was being toyed with before the carnivore ate her. She had never experienced the fear that one strong move could eviscerate her, wholly alive and aware. Claire opened her eyes again and stared glassy-eyed at the ceiling, powering through the physical torment, the entire will of her body focused on not twitching an inch.

Dean, for his part, was entranced by the sensation of power and control, travelling up his arm in a very visceral way to the red and raw Mark. If he punched her even a short distance, she’d probably never be able to have children. A little more force and her bowels would perforate, killing her through infection over the course of several gruesome days. Just as much as if he were holding a knife, he was forcibly reminded that his hand alone was a weapon, and he held the power of life and death over her scrawny body.

He pushed in with little bursts, first with outstretched fingers but then curling them into an actual fist to stretch her vag even further. He pressed all the way until his knuckles met resistance at what was presumably the closed entrance to the womb. At that point Dean was up in her inches beyond his wrist, and her entrance closed in around his lower arm. Claire continued to hold still, to just take him, her only reaction periodic whimpers every time he moved. "Good, baby, good," he murmured, far gentler than before. "God, I just want to fuck you with my hand. I want to slam into you over and over until your insides are nothing but a bloody pulp. But then I can’t have fun with you later, because you’ll be dead." Dean rested his other hand palm-down on top of her abdomen, pressing slightly until he could feel the fist through her skin and muscle. Such a fragile, thin layer of tissue. He’d ripped through flesh so many times, but never stopped to consider how everyone was only an finger’s width away from death.

"Does this hurt?" he eventually asked. She nodded, still staring at the ceiling, her entire body gleaming with sweat. "Good. Prepare for more." He jerked into her, just an inch but enough to bruise the cervix. Claire’s eyes trickled tears and she exhaled sharply, but again didn’t move. He repeated the motion rhythmically, fucking her only an inch but as deep in her body as he dared go. Each bump at the back of her cervix generated a wave of twitchy contractions and low scream, but Dean noted she was starting to move with him, meeting him with each painful thrust. Her clit was huge and throbbing just above his jutting wrist.

Claire had never experienced torment to this degree before. The initial entrance of his hand had been like a horrible reenactment of losing her virginity, that burning laceration aggravated by his every movement. That was piddling, though, compared to the excruciating bruising, like she was being pummeled from the inside out. Her entire abdomen felt bloated as she was stretched and filled beyond capacity. To her disgust, with every tug her tissues reacted on top of the anguish, sensitized, aroused despite the horror. Maybe this was what birth was like, on your back with relentless pain and damage and uncontrollable primal instincts.

"Your my painslut, aren’t you?" Dean murmured. "Do you wanna come from this, get off on me hand fucking you within an inch of your life? Serious question, answer me bitch." She shook her head no, emphatically, and made a garbled noise that could have been an attempt at a word. It sounded like "stop." "I don’t believe you. Let’s see if the we can get the little painslut to come. Or maybe it’s just plain old slut."

Dean moved his free hand down to rub two fingers in a circle over the head of her clit, even as he rocked his hand inside her faster. He pulled out partially to give himself more clearance to fuck her vigorously. Despite holding back -- his strength, the Mark -- the entrance to her abused vagina began to ooze blood. He could only imagine, with glee, how bruised up her internal muscle must be. The attention to her clit began to pay off, though, because no matter how roughly his hand scraped over her entrance, she bucked with him, rocking her hips into his thrusting fingers. He could feel the micro-contractions building too, squeezing his whole hand. Her mouth told a different story from her body, screaming _no no noooo_ through the soaking gag.

"Oh, yes, baby girl. You’re going to come for me. Now." He thrust into her one last time as the contractions clamped down, and simultaneously pinched and twisted her clit as hard as he could. She shrieked through the pain but the orgasm swept through her anyway, the waves of pleasure mingling with layers of anguish from the constricted clit. As she quieted down he yanked his hand out, reopening the small fissure he’d made on the way in. She lay with her head flopped to the side, eyes pinched closed again and sobbing.

"Mmm, good. Very good. See, you came first, don’t let anyone say I’m the selfish one in this situation." Dean ignored her crying and wiped his slimy, bloody hand on her stomach. "That clit, though, is something else. I should take you down and let the demons gangbang you, make you come again and again. More pain than your stick figure can take, probably. But your clit likes it. It’s twitching for more already," he said, pulling at her hood once again. "Really you should never be allowed to come ever again without a little whump to go with it. To that end …"

He got off the bed and walked up near where her arms were tied down. With one hand he held down her head and with the other ripped one the earrings off her earlobe, a nice thick stud. Claire screamed so hard this time that she began to choke. Blood dribbled down her neck, and once again he bent down to lick the sweet wound. "It’s just an earlobe, don’t be such a baby," he said into her ear. "Check this out, my little masochist."

Back down at her cunt, Dean took off the earring back and set it aside. Then he pinched the hood of her clit, pulling it abnormally far up, and slowly began digging the the stud straight into her flesh. "I’ve decided to mark you after all," he said over the top of her renewed screams. "When this is all over you could choose to remove my little addition to the holes in your body, but some damage will have been done, I think. Everytime you touch yourself, every time you let someone fuck you, you’ll feel the scar and think of me."

It took several minutes of grinding the hood of her clit before he could get piercing through. A needle would be better, cleaner, but he hurt her much more this way. She was breathing in great snorting gulps through her nose, and her face was contorted with agony by the time he was done and popped the earring back in place. She had bitten almost clean through the underwear to the point her teeth grinded. For the first time that evening, he felt some of the old satisfaction at torturing her. Just causing endless pain and bodily harm for no reason at all except to make someone scream. The earring put strain on her clit from an abnormal angle, meaning every time her clit was stretched or bumped, the piercing aggravated the wound. Even plain old vanilla fucking would cause stabbing misery; so long as the piercing was in place, she couldn’t come without the excruciating sensation of her clitorus being ripped open anew.

Dean decided it was time to put that theory to the test.

He stood up and began to slowly strip his clothes, while Claire got a minor reprieve. Technically he only needed to pull his jeans down, but he had the sudden urge to touch her, feel her wriggling warm body skin to skin as he raped her, smother her tiny form with his weight. His cock had been dying for release, but he’d ignored it in favor of other pleasures. No more.

Dean let her have a good long look at his body and dripping cock, expecting some more doe-eyed crying and whimpering as she got a notion the next stage of her punishment. Instead she calmly glanced at the cock, then stared right at him with an expression of utter hate and scorn, as if to say _that’s all you got?_ As if she wasn’t laying there with a smashed up wrist, clit and pussy, with someone who might very well smash her face in too if she continued with the insolent smirks.

Something about those eyes, petulant and sarcastic despite her broken and bleeding wounds, enraged Dean like no mocking words could. He swung up on the bed, squashing his full weight on top of her chest and waggling his red dripping cock directly into her face. "The slightest hint of teeth and I will knock them out and cut off your fucking tongue," Dean growled, and he ripped the soaking cloth out of her mouth and jammed the cock in its place. She squealed and shook her head, satisfyingly terrified at this new and unexpected violation. Her throat convulsed around the tip of his cock as she struggled for air, and he pulled out for a second's rest only to ram it back into its moist place.

Dean leaned over her, putting all his mass into face-fucking her, not giving a shit whether he smothered and let the life choke out of her. "Learn, bitch. Learn to please me, learn to take my dick and suck it like you mean it instead of rolling your eyes like a whiny fucking princess, and maybe I’ll let you live. And if not, well, you've been a nice hole to dump my wad into." The Mark was swelling as much as his cock, red hot and demanding, and this time he let the visceral force of his rage and lust travel up the arm to his chest, head, balls, and limbs. He imagined what a pleasure it would be to beat her, whip her while the Mark’s lust rage through him until every square inch of her body was an broken as the wrist. Instead he channeled it into sex, forcing his way deep into her throat over and over until he had practically stuffed his balls in her mouth, letting the pleasure build in tandem with the Mark’s appetite for suffering while the girl turned blue and limp.

Claire despaired whether she was going to survive. She silently prayed to Castiel -- maybe it would go through, maybe there was a God, despite every scrap of evidence to the contrary -- but failing that actively considered suicide via the demon. All she had to do was clamp down with her teeth as hard as possible, and he’d probably lose control and slaughter her just like he had Randy. Plus if she were really determined, she might be able to take his most fucking prized possession with her. Go to the Heaven she knew was real, see her real father again.

In the end, though, Claire wanted to live. She didn’t want to die with her hated enemy’s cock in her mouth, choking on a vile creature’s cum. She wasn’t ready to face the angels and their petty wars, or commit to an existence of reliving the same memories for all eternity. Making memories was what the _Earth_ was for, it was for _humans,_ and all of the goddamned demons and monsters and heavenly hosts could go straight back to fucking Hell.

So, like a human but unlike the animal tearing into her throat from the inside, Claire commanded all her resources and controlled herself. It wasn’t within her power to stop the assault, but she did command the means to endure. She’d let a fucking angel ride her once, what’s a demon? Through the haze of terror, the orgasm, and the overwhelming agony of a hole stabbed through her clit, she had already mostly dissociated from the pain coursing through her body. Claire recognized that the pain was still there, but it seemed far away, as if it were happening to a different person. So her double self concentrated only on her breath. Relax the throat, _breathe._ Open as wide as possible, _breathe._ She could obey for the time it took to survive. She could take the devil’s advice and learn.

Dean dimly noticed that the girl was still alive and even cooperating in some passive way, but through the pent-up gusto of pleasure he didn’t care. From a technical standpoint it wasn’t a blow job for the ages, what with her just lying there like a skanky hole in a blow-up doll, but the violence and humiliation of it aroused his Mark-driven id to giddy heights. He’d had sex since waking up as a demon, all of it rough and bloody with questionable advance notice, but that was to be expected from the types of sluts that would fuck a guy they met in a bar only a couple hours before. Tying a young girl down, strangling her with his cock, _forcing_ her to fuck, it was all a fresh new exhilaration.

When he came Dean grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head up to ram her even further than before. She choked, of course, but he held her in place long enough for the semen to pour down her throat. "Good girl, drink it all," he muttered, and leaned on the wall in front of him while breathing raggedly. Claire’s throat was spasming with his dick still stuffed inside her, and she began to mewl and even dared to push his cock around with her tongue, so eventually he relented and climbed off her face. If he was going to strangle her, might as well save it for the fun part.

He pulled himself down the length of the bed and lay on top of Claire, just reveling in the skin contact with the post-orgasm buzz. Human-soul Dean had actually been a bit of a slut for post-coital touching during his one-night stands, although he’d never admit it in public; probably some mommy issues there if he was being honest with himself. He propped his head up on his arm only inches from her face and studied her, now that the rage and drive to drill into her had dissipated.

"You know, chica, I’m a little surprised you haven’t broken yet. Take it straight from someone who’s been in Hell, plenty of people are sobbing messes by this point, and that’s without a literal body that’ll need stitching up. Are you just shutting down now, baby wannabe hunter? How do you feel?"

"Feel?" Claire rasped. Her voice sounded like someone has dragged sandpaper across the larynx. "I. Feel. Like. Shit," she managed, dragging out each word. How did the monster _think_ she felt? In truth she was surprised at how few physical sensations were actually filtering up to her brain, compared to the torment of the fist, but she guessed it was what the thing wanted to hear.

Dean expected additional teenage snark and attitude to be forthcoming, but despite the loathing in her eyes she quieted down. He still grabbed her by the hair and yanked to one side, breathing hard on her exposed neck. One bite, one swipe of a knife… _"Details,_ you fucking whore. I already know you feel like shit, describe it to me. How’s it feel to be mutilated, to know that any second I’m going recover and bust into you and start the pain all over again?"

The talking was in its own way highly unpleasant for Claire, for it took her out of her adrenaline-fueled numbness and forced her to think about the wreckage of her body. Why didn’t he just fuck her again and get it over with? She tried to calculate the hour, how much time was left to endure before the monster would be forced to let her go, before Sam woke up in the morning. Dean was, like, forty, surely he could only get it up one or two more rounds. Finally she found words, still observing herself from afar: "Your … your weight. It’s on my hip. My muscles hurt from being in this position too long. I feel stretched, like I’m going to be split in two," she murmured. It was like reading from the phone book, for all her engagement. "The earring burns, but when you move its like being stabbed. The ear just aches. The wrist …"

Dean nodded in approval at her rambling and untied her arms while she was talking, and she blinked in surprise. She didn’t dare bring her arms down without permission. "My hand is numb, but the wrist feels like the bones are poking, um …"

"Put your arms around my back," Dean interrupted softly, and lay back down to the side of her chest.

Again she tried to hold back her surprise, but obeyed. Her muscles ached from the movement, but it was also a minor relief to shift positions. "My arms are rubbery, it hurts to move …"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up now." He still seemed to be studying her, although now their arms were wrapped together in an oddly intimate gesture and he continued to breathe on her neck. Was this supposed to be comforting? Claire noted he was already hard again, and didn’t know if she should be be afraid or relieved. Dean stroked her face and neck, still gently, and seemed to genuinely enjoy the touch. Claire wondered where the human soul of Dean was now -- Hell, Heaven, buried inside him? Watching all this while screaming to get out? And then the demon spoke again.

"You know what I think, Claire?" He hadn’t used her name for ages, not since the very beginning. Claire doubted it was cause for hope of his burgeoning humanity. "I think you’re full of bullshit. I think you’ve already mentally checked out, and decided just to ride it out and let me use you until morning. Am I right?"

She stared back at his hard gaze, and refused to answer.

"I used this little dissociation trick myself back in Hell, and it’s a good one, so well done. The problem is, this ain’t much fun for me if you don’t hurt anymore. What’s the good of raping and torturing someone if they just shut their brain off? May as well have killed you and fuck your floppy corpse for all the joy that brings. Remember not to scream now."

With that as the only warning, he shoved all the way into her abused vagina up to the hilt, managing to hit her bruised cervix in one violent thrust. The move tore the piercing in her clit and a river of blood flooded between them. Claire constrained the shriek in her throat by only a microsecond, biting down on his shoulder.to swallow the excruciation.

"Yessss, good, I know that hurt. Look at me. Look at me, baby, that’s it." He was breathing hard again, obviously getting off as she forced herself to look up. He moved his arms down to pin her legs up and open even more, as wide as she could stretch, and impaled again. She had to bite down with her teeth, swallow her tongue, roll her eyes back to hold back the scream. "Open your eyes and look at me. Every time, Claire. You need to concentrate now. We’re going to bring back the painslut, and you’d better convince me that’s it’s real to get out of this today. Otherwise I’m going to tie you up and hide you under the bed and tell Cas you’ve run off, and then let the nightly torture _really_ begin. Your choice. You really want to live?"

Without waiting for a response he pulled all the way out, and she took a controlled breath, attempting to stay on top of the waves of pain. What did the bastard _want_ from her? Dean shifted his position, again yanking on her legs within the bonds, and this time when he shoved into her, it wasn’t in the vag. She almost lost control of the scream that time, did lose the eye contact again, clutched the blanket below her as her ass _burned_ and ripped and compacted.

"Ass virgin, eh? Shocking. This would be far more pleasant with some lube, but it’s not the point to be nice, is it? Keep your arms around the back of my neck and keep eye contact, I not gonna warn you again." The second time he forced himself in, it hurt just as much as before but seemed slicker. Blood, blood, how much was she bleeding? "Now tell me how you feel. The truth."

"I can’t .. I don’t know … everything hurts so much." She obediently kept eye contact, plastered her bad hand along his sweaty back, but nevertheless tears involuntarily began to fall. Somehow she hated him more for that, for making her cry, than the pain itself.

"Good start little girl, give me more. A least I can tell you mean it. You can do it. Stay on top of the pain and ride it. Feel every goddamn thrust." He had established a rhythm now, rough and shuddering with every deep plunge. They were both panting now at the effort, and to Claire’s surprise the words did indeed enable her to take it, to focus on the agony itself like it was a living thing fucking her as thoroughly as the demon.

"I’m bleeding. I’m ripping. It’s like being kicked from the inside. Like a fucking hot poker is inside me. I can’t do it, please," she gasped. But even as Claire said it, she knew it was a lie. She could in fact do it, take anything, do anything, she could _win._ She watched his eyes, pretty in some other life when the black abyss wasn’t behind them, consumed with the desire to assault her beyond all reason. Maybe more than one demon haunted Dean’s soul.

"You _like_ being kicked from the inside. You’re doing so good, you feel so good to fuck. Tell me how it feels to be fucked and used and beaten everywhere."

"Razors and barbed wire and fire and nails and an animal chewing me up and spitting me up. Let me go, please, please, god please it hurts." Claire lost eye contact and buried her face in his neck, wrapping her arms around him and dragging him close like he was a real lover. Even as the begging came out of her, she was successfully submerging herself in the pain, reveling in it, conquering it through sheer will.

"Not until you come, baby."

The words alone acted as a trigger for her arousal, and she moaned into his neck and arched into him, moving with him to meet each fuck as best she could from her restrained legs. Dean had apparently decided to help it along by reaching down and jamming two fingers on the top of her clit, above where the piercing had done the damage, and pulsed up with his fingers with every thrust. A jagged ripping sensation still accompanied every stroke, but she accommodated it, added it to her arsenal of pain. The price to pay for a bit of pleasure, to obey and to come.

Dean was murmuring praises -- "That’s my good painslut, take it, take everything as I rip you apart" -- but just like Claire he was far gone, focused entirely on the sublime experience of wringing every ounce of pleasure from her broken body. The Mark drove him on, but this time it wasn’t an irresistible frenzy of bloodlust. For once Dean knew he was in control of its effects, dominating the Mark every bit as much as Claire was dominating the torture. He brought the glowing scar up to her lips. "Suck it," he commanded, and she obediently brought it between her open lips. The Mark was burning her, he could smell sizzling flesh, but still she accepted it and enthusiastically licked it, taking a bit of his burden away as another instrument of her pain.

As they approached orgasm, egging each other on, Claire once again felt every agony fade. She would live, she knew somehow. Dean was going to come hard in her, then make her lick him off as he untied her. Maybe he would use her again, maybe she would let him, maybe he would let her go. Maybe she would recover, or maybe the rest of her life would be defined by this moment. Maybe she would return and run a blade across his vile neck, and maybe Dean would someday realize what he needed to do, and chop off his own arm to save himself from the evil. But as she came, with every cell in her body exploding with anguish and enjoyment, as Dean moaned and drove his last into her, Claire knew she would survive. Victory.

　


End file.
